


A Seven-Year Itch

by 26stars



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst because we all know how canon ends, Basically me projecting all my love for Georgiou onto Michael, Disco is my only trek experience please be kind, Dubious mutual pining, F/F, Femslash February, Mirrorgiou will be mentioned eventually, Pining, Shenzhou Era, and throwing all my headcanons about their seven years together in one place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29196969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: Michael Burnham is called to the captain's ready room every year on the anniversary of her arrival on the Shenzhou.A series of oneshots of those seven years.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou
Comments: 58
Kudos: 35
Collections: Femslash February





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Radiolaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/gifts), [the_eh_team](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_eh_team/gifts).



> Okay, so this fic has actually been in my WIP folder since season 1 was still airing (and good lord a lot of Life has happened since then...). Some inspiration this winter has finally made me come back and dust it off. Here's hoping it's never too late for Shenzhou feels.
> 
> Special thanks to radiolaria and the-eh-team for the help and encouragement!

1.

The first meeting was the transporter room of the Shenzhou. The Captain had called it “first contact” with a glint in her eye that Michael would eventually recognize as a signal of words not to be taken literally. Their ensuing exchange in the turbolifts rang with the echoes of eager blades meeting in curious parries, and Michael had known before she stepped onto the bridge that both within and without the ship, adventures awaited.

One year to the day, a memo summons her to the Captain’s ready room at the end of Alpha shift. Michael guesses the purpose of the meeting before she arrives, but she still doesn’t quite know what to expect.

Georgiou is seated at the desk in her ready room when Michael enters.

“Please sit, Ensign Burnham,” the Captain …requests? It doesn’t sound like an order, and yet it does not occur to Michael for one second to not do as she is told. Music from the computer softly fills the room, something orchestral and rather soothing, though Michael doesn’t recognize its melody.

The captain sets aside the PADD she was reading from and folds her hands on her desk. She leans neither back nor forward in her chair.

“As of today, you have now been with this crew and this ship for one Earth year,” Georgiou opens, her expression kind and unguarded.

“That is correct,” Michael says, her back remaining straight, her words perfunctory.

Georgiou nods, spreading her hands briefly. “And how are you feeling about your time here?”

The question makes Michael pause, unsure what answer is expected or correct.

“My feelings on the matter are irrelevant,” she eventually answers.

But Georgiou smiles briefly, knowingly. “Not to me. So tell me, Michael, what has the year been like for you?”

“The intrigue and adventure afforded by this opportunity have far exceeded my expectations,” Michael says carefully but truthfully, watching the captain’s reaction attentively to see how her words are received.

Georgiou is nodding, but when Michael’s pause grows too long, she offers a prompt. “And how about the culture shock?” When Michael quirks a confused brow, the woman continues. “As the only crew member with a Vulcan background now in the midst of a large company of humans for the first time in years, have you found the transition difficult?”

“A bit,” Michael admits, a cavalcade of memories parading in her mind’s eye, moments when she had stumbled over the complexities of the rituals and behaviors between herself and other crew members. “I fear myself extremely out-of-touch with my fellow humans.”

Georgiou does not rush to reassure her, only tilts her chin, acknowledging Michael’s concern. “One can only assume that as a xeno-anthropologist, you have applied some methods to your observations throughout the past few months.”

Michael nods quickly. “I have.”

“And?” Georgiou looks only curious.

“Humans are as vast and varied as any sentient species,” Michael answers vaguely. “Yet one can hope to understand patterns in due time. I think I have made a little progress this year in responding appropriately to my crewmates in various situations.”

For the first time this meeting, Georgiou’s smile lingers a little longer. “A worthy goal. And I am sure you will continue to make progress if you are determined to.” She now leans back slightly, her elbows resting on the armrests of the winged chair. “While you are here, I also do not want you to be afraid to express any negative concerns as well, Burnham. Has anything in the past year concerned you to a degree that you feel is worth mentioning to me? Please do not be afraid to say so if there is any such matter.”

Michael looks into Georgiou’s eyes and can think of only one such thing—the way something foreign flutters involuntarily within her chest when she is the recipient of this woman’s smile.

“No, Captain,” she says firmly.

It’s the first lie Michael tells her.

Georgiou nods minutely, her lips softening again into that smile for a heavenly moment. “Very well. I have no other questions for you, but I welcome any you may have for me.”

Michael presses her palms into the fabric that covers her thighs, fighting the urge to avert her eyes for some reason. “Has my performance in the past year been satisfactory to you, Captain?”

Georgiou tilts her head slightly, seeming amused. “On the contrary, Michael, your performance has been above and beyond my already-high expectations. I am very happy to have you here.”

Something flutters behind Michael’s ribs now, a bird trapped in a jar. “Thank you, Captain.”

Georgiou nods, getting to her feet, and Michael quickly does the same. “You are dismissed, Burnham, but if you have nowhere to be later, I was hoping for a partner to run firefight simulations with after the next meal. Would you have my back?”

She smiles again, and the thing within Michael’s ribs beats its wings harder.

 _Dangerous_ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Sarek cautions in her mind.

“Absolutely, Captain,” Michael answers anyway.

Because this will never be a lie.

Of that, Michael is sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael seeks advice from a trusted source before her next meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention when posting the first chapter, but I plan to update this fic every four days.

2.

Michael had thought, perhaps foolishly, that all her feelings needed was time.

 _She is your captain—followers naturally trust and admire worthy leaders,_ she tells herself often. _Any crew member on this ship would walk through fire at her command. You will get used to her presence and settle into the same state as the rest of them, eventually._

But they don’t and she doesn’t, so with no one on the ship yet deserving of her confidence, Michael turns to the one person she trusts to give thoughtful advice without wrapping it in reproach—Amanda.

Michael had been a child still years away from puberty when she had come to Sarek and Amanda’s home, a human raised among Vulcans now under the care of one of each. One to understand the inside while the other trained the outside. And the two of them had by then perfected their careful dance.

In situations when human habits ran up against Vulcan’s, Amanda always respectfully deferred to the expectation of the culture around them. In private, she never outright contradicted the Vulcan teachings that Michael was soaking in on a daily basis, or even said anything passively judgmental of them. She had, however, consistently shown and reassured Michael that the feelings she was constantly experiencing and being forced to deal with in a Vulcan way were normal, natural, and valid. Feelings like fear, frustration, and anger.

And anomalies like guilt and crushes.

So now, as Michael reads the latest digital message from her foster mother, the one that tells her that Spock had rejected his acceptance to the Vulcan Science Expedition in favor of a position within Starfleet, Michael is thankful for the excuse to write back.

_Would you have a moment where we could speak face-to-face soon?_

Amanda calls in on at a time where Michael has made sure that her roommate is on shift so that she is sure that they will not be interrupted.

“You look well!” Amanda says cheerfully at the sight of Michael. The woman is dressed as beautifully as ever, though Michael knows this gown well—it was always Amanda’s favorite.

“So do you,” Michael says, recalling Amanda’s teaching to always attempt to return a compliment (advice that seems to have served her well within the Shenzhou’s crew).

Amanda smiles, her projection appearing to sit on Michael’s bed. “So, what’s the latest?”

Michael sits down with her and fills her in on all the stories from the past few months—the missions, the new experiences, the places they’ve been…

“Are you making friends, I hope? Any new people to tell me about?” Amanda eventually asks gently, prompting Michael to deviate from things that are easiest to talk about and shift towards the reason she had actually called. She stalls for a minute or two, talking about her roommate, her cautious friendships amongst the crew, but then…

“There is one officer…” Michael eventually begins, then stops. It still feels too dangerous to say out loud.

Amanda has a knowing look in her eye, and she cocks her head with a smile. “Someone special?”

Michael nods because nodding doesn’t require breath. “But they’re…they’re a superior officer. And it’s against Starfleet regulations for an officer and their subordinate to be romantically involved.”

Amanda smiles understandingly. “Well, is that something that you both want?”

“I haven’t—” Michael says quickly, so forcefully that Amanda looks startled. “You’re the only person I’m not afraid to mention this to. And I certainly haven’t said anything to them.”

“Well, you certainly don’t have to say anything if you aren’t ready to,” Amanda says calmly, her presence, tone, and expression soothing even in hologram form. “If you’ve found someone that you’ve connected with so well, I’m happy for you regardless.”

“I…” Michael trails off, frustrated that she has not prepared her words better. She closes her mouth—takes a deep breath. _Uncertainty of words reveals uncertainty of conviction._ “I…it would be better if I did not feel this way about this person.”

Amanda smiles, putting her hand near Michael’s where it rests on the bed. Of course, Michael cannot feel it, but the gesture is comforting all the same. “Sometimes, we don’t get to choose feelings like that. Attraction is sometimes unexpected and unpredictable. But you seem to know the boundaries that you want to maintain.”

_No, I don’t. I just know the boundaries that are already there._

“It’s not allowed,” Michael says again, looking down at her hands.

“Maybe not, not with your current ranks,” Amanda concedes. “But things can change.”

Michael looks up at her, hoping for something concrete to take away from this conversation. “Will these feelings go away?”

Amanda tilts her head one way and then the other. “Sometimes they do. The way we see people is always changing. Sometimes when we see more of someone, we like them less. But sometimes, seeing new things only makes us love them more.”

Michael wants this to be comforting…but it is just an excuse to end the call sooner in order to be alone with her thoughts.

After all, she has a meeting with the captain in only an hour.

“How does this year compare to the first, Ensign Burnham?” Georgiou asks once Michael has sat down in her ready room.

Today, Michael feels less afraid to simply share her thoughts. “Academically, this year has been as exciting as the first, full of new experiences. Practically, I am becoming more and more familiar with the crew, the ship, and Starfleet; therefore many things have been easier than the first year. Emotionally, I admit that I have found this year more difficult, for spending more time with humans has made it harder to keep myself at a distance.”

Georgiou cocks her head. “Why do you feel the need to keep your crewmates at a distance?”

Michael’s fingers memorize the texture of her trousers. “My time aboard this ship may not be continue indefinitely.”

Georgiou’s lips purse, her eyes turning concerned. “True, but I had hoped it would continue for at least a few years. I can see you excelling in this environment.”

Michael’s breath catches, her heartbeat picking up and doubtlessly coloring her cheeks with an incriminating flush. She does not trust herself to speak, but thankfully, Georgiou has more to say.

“I have enjoyed having you on board Michael. But my hope for you is, of course, that you go wherever your passions take you. Hopefully, you will discover some of those passions during your time with us.”

The captain’s arms rest on her desk in their familiar posture, hands lightly clasping one another. Michael has caught herself studying those hands on occasion, wondering how it might have felt to shake her hand at that first meeting, the gesture Michael had knowingly ignored at that time.

She has wondered other things, but only in fleeting thoughts immediately snagged and shoved deep out of sight.

Michael forces herself to breathe normally.

“I am sure I will.”

“Is there anything you personally wish to discuss with me while we have this time together?” Georgiou asks, spreading her small hands towards Michael, who forces herself not to look at them too long.

“No, Captain.”

Is it a lie if she knows she simply _cannot_ discuss it?

Georgiou nods, folding her hands again. “Very well. Thank you for sharing with me. You are dismissed, Ensign Burnham.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whether or not 'no dating your superior officer' is an actual regulation or not, it seems to be implied. And in this case it's obviously an essential plot point, so at least in this fic, it's law.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael sets her sights on something new. Georgiou is pleased.

3.

When the third anniversary of her arrival on the Shenzhou rolls around, their crew is in the middle of a mission. The day after it concludes, however, the call to the ready room comes.

“I hope that you have continued to learn a great deal this year, Ensign,” Georgiou says cheerfully after the initial pleasantries are exchanged.

Michael nods, sitting with a little more ease than before. “I have.”

Georgiou mirrors the gesture. “My next question to you then, is, do you wish to continue your course with this crew?”

Michael was not expecting this inquiry. “Captain?” she asks nervously, her back straightening instinctively.

“I am not asking because of any shortcoming on your part, Burnham,” Georgiou says quickly, barely putting Michael’s mind at ease. “But at our last meeting like this, you alluded to other possible plans for your future. I understand that a life aboard a starship is not an easy one, but I hope you have found it exciting. However, if you find your passions diverted to another field, I would be happy to discuss alternative positions within Starfleet—or even alternative career paths—with you now, and how I can help you work towards that end.”

She smiles expectantly, and Michael is less afraid than ever to smile cautiously back. By now, she has a library of the captain’s smiles to remember, but she has also seen a bit of the “more” Amanda must have been alluding to. She has seen Georgiou laughing freely at a crew member’s story during a meal time; has seen her with her clothing ripped, bleeding from the leg due to a surprise attack from local flora; has seen her straightening the collar of a cadet on the bridge and offering affirmation at the same time; has seen her exhausted but exhilarated with dirt and sweat forming mud on her skin after a frantic run from a fauna stampede that ended with her, Michael, and the rest of their landing party getting beamed back aboard and colliding in a heap on the transporter pads…

“I do not think I’ve found a limit to the things I want from my time here,” Michael eventually says. “I have no reason to desire to be elsewhere.”

Georgiou smiles, her eyes gentle. “I am happy to hear that, Michael. I have no doubt you will excel in any environment, and I look forward to being even a small part of your journey. As always, I welcome any questions you may have for me.”

“What areas do you see me needing to improve in if I wish to command my own ship someday?”

“Is that a goal you have your sights on now?” Georgiou’s eyes seem to sparkle, and Michael hopes it is with pride.

Three years ago, she had been devastated at her rejection from the Vulcan Expeditionary Group, and Starfleet had felt like little more than a consolation prize for all her efforts at the Vulcan Science Academy. Sarek had not made much of the alternative when he announced it to Michael—“An old friend of mine who captains a vessel within Starfleet has expressed interest in your joining of her crew within the science department”—and Michael had tried to accept her circumstances the way he had expected her to—with logical placidity and appropriate gratitude. Michael could find no reason to reject the offer, but she had walked onto the Shenzhou with little enthusiasm for Starfleet or her opportunity within it.

Her feelings about both had changed substantially, and Michael knew this was at least partly due to the person sitting in front of her.

“I have come to appreciate Starfleet’s objectives and would be happy to spend my time and resources furthering them,” she says now, her eyes falling to the badge on Georgiou’s uniform. “Leading others to do the same is a rather natural conclusion.”

Georgiou nods thoughtfully. “A life within a ship requires sacrifices, but a captaincy requires many more. It’s not a life for everyone.”

“I would like to pursue it and find out if it’s for me,” Michael says eagerly. “I can’t really know until I try.”

Georgiou’s lips flicker into that ready smile again. “Well said. Thank you for sharing your ambitions with me, Michael. I look forward to helping you achieve them.”

Michael replays the conversation in her mind multiple times in the following days. It takes four replays before she realizes that this was the first time the captain ever called her “Michael.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has an unexpected announcement at this year's meeting. Georgiou has an unexpected response.

4.

“I wish to submit a request for transfer.”

Michael says it as soon as she walks into the room on her fourth anniversary on the Shenzhou, planting herself behind the waiting chair like a soldier. The captain had stood to greet her as she came in, but now, she lowers herself back into her own chair, her gaze never leaving Michael’s.

“I am compelled to ask your reasons for such a request, Ensign,” Georgiou says, her fingertips coming together where her hands rest on the desk.

Michael already cannot bear to hold the woman’s gaze, so she picks a point on the shelf behind the captain and focuses there. “I am concerned that my attachment to those around me has become unhealthy and…unprofessional.”

Her teeth pinch the inside of her lip while her eyes look anywhere except into Georgiou’s.

_Please do not ask any follow-up questions. Just let me take my shameful self elsewhere…_

“I have no intention of disregarding your concerns, Michael,” Georgiou says patiently, “but I would like to first assure you that an attachment to your crew is not only natural, it is healthy. It shows that you feel comfortable and safe here, among these people. I hoped that you would find such a home on the Shenzhou. Is there something specific, however, that bothers you about the situation?”

Michael hesitates—it feels like the utmost of failures, to admit to her captain such a critical way she falls short.

 _But the well-being of your crew must come before your pride_ , Sarek’s voice reminds her. _This is not about you._

“I am concerned that my feelings towards those around me will influence my logic,” she finally says, still training her eyes on the shadow puppet behind Georgiou. “I do not trust myself to make unbiased decisions anymore.”

“Then you have rediscovered that side of yourself?” the captain asks, and Michael thinks with some level of shock that Georgiou does not sound unhappy about the confession.

“The impractical side?” Michael confirms.

“The human side.”

Michael’s gaze finally falls to Georgiou’s. Her captain is gazing at her intently, and Michael feels as if she is being tested.

“But you did not recruit me to act as a human,” she responds. “You recruited a science officer with Vulcan training—”

“And if I’d wanted you to act like a Vulcan, I would have encouraged you to,” Georgiou cuts her off, the first time that Michael can ever remember the captain interrupting her. “I had hoped that you would become more in touch with your emotions over time, Michael. You are certainly not describing a disadvantage.”

Michael hesitates, still cautious of correcting her captain. Rather than contradict her, she lets her words form an arrow.

“Because of those emotions, however, I can no longer be a practical, steady, scientific voice within your crew. I have seen my decisions in the past few months become increasingly influenced by my desires to protect those closest to me from harm or from pain.”

Michael is thinking of the landing party they were both with a few months ago, gathering samples on an M-class planet when a sensor picked up incoming wildlife. Michael had had her phaser out in seconds, set to stun, thinking only of putting herself between the captain and the threat.

Had it been natives rather than animals, her reaction would have broken General Order One.

“You _should_ desire to protect your crew, Burnham,” Georgiou says, bringing Michael back to the present. “Your instincts reflect altruism, compassion, and love. None of those are things I would ever wish for you to feel less of. It’s critical for us to take care of those in our care.”

Michael breathes in and out slowly, unable again to meet her captain’s eyes, now lowering her gaze to the captain’s hands.

“Were I to transfer you to another ship,” Georgiou continues, “within a few years, you would find yourself in the same situation, or so I can only hope. Do you intend to change crews regularly in order to escape future attachment?”

The opportunity to tell the truth expands in the space between them until Michael can hardly breathe. Not for the first time today, not for the first time in this meeting, she feels her Vulcan pragmatism at war with fear.

Selfish fear.

In the stretching silence, Georgiou waits, and Michael still finds it impossible to meet her eyes. Without thinking the words, she knows she is standing at a crossroads. Were she to tell the truth— _No crew would leave me the same problem, Captain, because you only lead this one…—_ she would lay bare her true fear. Were she to step back, lie by omission, agree with the captain’s reasoning, she would be surrendering—perhaps indefinitely—to human deceit, the source of so much pain that she has been taught is unnecessary.

 _Choose,_ Sarek’s unwelcome voice challenges her.

Through the chaos comes Georgiou’s voice, a ray of light, as always.

“I will not force you to stay aboard this ship, Michael, if transfer is truly your wish. I would send you to your next endeavor with my hearty endorsement and a glowing recommendation. But I would, of course, be sad to lose you, Michael. For many reasons.”

Her last words finally give Michael the courage to look at the woman again. Her captain looks as she always does—engaged, concerned, and careful. But there is that softening of compassion in her eyes now, an expression Michael has seen before, though rarely trained exclusively on herself.

 _The captain loves her crew. You are not unique to receive that sentiment, Michael,_ she curtly reminds herself.

 _But you can know that in some small way, the attachment is mutual and not resented,_ a more selfish thought pushes back.

Georgiou suddenly moves, rising from her chair and circling the desk. Michael sees her hand rising but still nearly jumps as it curls gently around her shoulder.

“Take a day, Michael,” Philippa says, standing so close that Michael could embrace her without needing to leap. “Think about it some more, and in twenty-four hours, we can re-visit this conversation.”

This close, Michael thinks it would be foolish to assume that the woman cannot see the war going on within her, so she lowers her eyes.

“Yes, Captain,” she agrees, and turns briskly to step out from under Georgiou’s hand as she leaves.

At her scheduled hour the next day, Michael arrives at the bridge. Georgiou is in the chair and glances at her expectantly as she enters, but Michael cannot bring herself to meet her eyes as she assumes her station.

“Captain,” she says as she logs onto her screen, “you may disregard our conversation from yesterday.”

“Noted, Burnham,” Georgiou’s measured voice answers from the chair.

Michael remains, and so do the feelings.

Persistent. Unignorable.

An itch Michael is unable to scratch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a rare occasion where I had the idea for a title before the idea for a fic, and those last three lines are why.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgiou reminds Michael of a shared experience in the past year, then offers a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter went through about five different versions between the beginning of the fic and now.

5.

The fifth year, Michael is never called into the office, so the day after it’s due, she makes the appointment herself.

Nothing had changed in the captain’s treatment of her since their last conversation like this; Georgiou had remind the same kind, wise, attentive captain that she had always been, engaging Michael in conversation without any lingering coldness or reservation. Michael never mentioned a transfer request again, but the absence of a meeting on her fifth anniversary made her wonder if Georgiou was afraid that such a meeting might lead to a repeat of the last one.

_She’s too mature for that. Perhaps she only thought that you would not want to come._

Throughout Michael’s five years aboard the Shenzhou, the ready room has barely changed at all. The meeting table and its chairs wait expectantly off to one side, the old telescope set up near the wall peers out the window like a pet. The shelves behind the captain’s desk are still lined with the same wares as before—the shadow puppet, an assortment of stones of various sizes and colors, a small selection of leather-bound books—but as she takes her place before the captain’s desk, Michael also notes a small shard of amethyst on one shelf that is new to her. Something about it looks familiar, but she does not have long to study it before Georgiou commands her full attention.

“Lieutenant Burnham,” her captain says with her usual smile. The title is still something Michael is getting used to—she only gained it a handful of weeks ago. “Have a seat.”

Once seated, Georgiou seems to be waiting for Michael to speak first. Hoping to establish gracious terms, she leads with humility.

“Thank you, again, for the promotion,” she says with a cautious smile.

“You earned it,” Georgiou says in response. “And I think the position rather suits you. Do you feel that you have settled into it yet?”

“Slowly,” Michael answers. “Along with the rest of the crew.”

She and Saru were now equal rank, a fact that surprised her and seemed to annoy him. He had the Academy training and longer history with Georgiou that Michael was without. And yet…

“I saw you noticed this,” Georgiou says, rotating her chair and reaching to pluck the small piece of amethyst from her shelf, setting it on the desk equidistant between her and Michael. “Do you recognize it?”

Michael leans in to take a closer look at it, and, quite suddenly, she does.

“Cerus-IX?”

A planet from a mission six months ago where a crew member’s careless step had caused a domino-like slide of most of the landing party, which included the captain, down a slant of cliffs made of the purple stone. Michael had hurried down after them without a second’s thought, calling the ship for help as she repelled down the canyon to her crewmates. Several were visibly injured, but Michael rushed to Georgiou first, elevating her upper body, where she was bleeding from a wound in her left shoulder, a shard of purple stone barely protruding from her blood-soaked uniform.

“ _No, help them_ ,” the captain had said weakly as soon as she was able to speak, her eyes on the pile of groaning crewmates a few feet away.

“Captain, you’re badly injured—we need to return you to the ship,” Michael insisted, trying to assess from a distance which crewmate needed the most help. One’s leg was clearly broken, one was bleeding from her brow, one was not moving at all…

“ _Burnham_ ,” Georgiou had suddenly said sternly, her gaze zeroing in on Michael’s face, “I’m ordering you to your crew.”

Michael immediately scrambled to obey, propping Georgiou upright before rushing to the next injured’s side and applying a spray to seal her wound, communicating coordinates and triage to the ship as they prepared to beam them up…

“The last time we had a meeting like this, you mentioned a fear that your attachment to your crew would lead to biased decision-making,” Georgiou says, bringing Michael back to the present. “I think we both saw a moment of that on Cerus-IX.”

“Yes, Captain,” Michael says softly, keeping her eyes on the stone, her heart beginning to pound, worried that Georgiou was edging ever closer to the bottomless pit Michael had been trying so hard to conceal for five years. “I was…concerned for your life.”

“I believe I made the lesson clear afterwards,” Georgiou says lightly, also staring the stone on the desk between them.

“Yes, Captain,” Michael says soberly again, remembering Georgiou’s words to her at their first face-to-face after they’d all been released from medical.

_“The captain be the name that everyone on this ship knows, but that does not make him or her the most valuable life on the crew, Michael. In situations like the one we just experienced, the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the one—take care of the people in your care. Next time, don’t make me repeat myself.”_

“You learned from the experience, and in spite of your moment of scrambled priorities, you conducted yourself admirably,” Georgiou says, now picking up the shard, balancing it between two fingertips. “I would not have promoted you if I did not think you had learned the lesson.”

They’re still hovering too close, far too close to the truth that Michael has been working so hard to conceal, perhaps even destroy under pressure, for the past four years at least, and Michael does not trust herself to say anything. So she just stares at the amethyst in Georgiou’s hands, gradually realizing that this must have been the piece that was stuck in her shoulder if it came back to the ship with her…

“What do your thoughts towards your future look like these days, Michael?” Georgiou asks suddenly, wrapping her hand around the stone and concealing it, drawing Michael’s gaze back to her face. “You are obviously still on track to become a commander or captain if that is what you wish to do, but I do not want to divert you from other endeavors if you have found another calling.”

“Am I still welcome here, Captain?” Michael responds carefully, causing the woman’s face to soften minutely.

“Michael, this is not a disciplinary hearing. I did not bring up Cerus-IX to remind you of a failure, but of a lesson. I'm asking now about your future in light of our last meeting. I would be happy to play a part in your path towards command, but I want to make sure you are still committed to, or at least still interested in, the same course you had spoken of before.”

Later, Michael will allow herself to marvel that the captain remembers each of their annual meetings as clearly as she does, but for now, Michael only nods in agreement.

“I would like to continue here, ideally still moving towards command,” she says quietly. “I hope to better mankind’s understanding of the universe and build bridges between cultures through understanding. Starfleet is undoubtedly the best avenue for me to achieve this goal. Rising through its ranks seems sensible, if I am already advancing. It would be illogical to abandon the course now.”

It feels like reciting a passage from a book, but words like these are the most reliable at times like this when Michael feels so exposed.

“You have unbelievable potential, Michael,” Georgiou says with that familiar twinkle in her eye, though she looks more sober than usual. “I would not expect anything to be outside your reach.”

The captain leans back in her chair, rotating it with one foot and propping one elbow on the armrest. Her gaze goes to an empty corner over Michael’s shoulder, and Michael waits, unsure if she's being dismissed...

“When I was a Cadet,” Georgiou begins, and Michael is suddenly at rapt attention, hanging off every word, “I was excited about everything. I had dreamed my entire life of working out amongst the stars, discovering the unknown, and finding answers to new questions. What I mean for you to hear is that my motives for joining Starfleet were rather self-centered. And that mindset continued until I was two years into my first posting, when my crew was called to assist in peace talks between two opposing cultures in a star system a long way from Earth. We didn’t know it, but we were walking right into a fight that we had no place in.”

Michael knows exactly what event Georgiou is describing—she’d read the woman’s service record before she’d even set foot on the Shenzhou…

“Our ship sustained such damage that day that we had to abandon it right there on the battlefield,” Georgiou continues, her voice somber. “We lost nearly half our crew, including my closest friend from Academy days. Our captain stayed on the ship until he saw everyone safely evacuated, and even as his pod left our ship, it was shot down by one of the factions.”

Georgiou is still not looking at Michael, but Michael’s attention has yet to waver.

“I had spent two years as a crewmate on that ship rather wrapped up in myself, my goals, and my wishes for the future. That day taught me much, but perhaps most importantly, it changed my perspective. It pulled me out of myself and made me face the larger picture.”

Georgiou’s gaze abruptly flicks up to Michael’s, nearly making her jump.

“The point of my story is, you have still only experienced five years of Starfleet, and they have been relatively peaceful ones. I do not wish for you to commit in ignorance—a position on a starship offers adventure, but it can demand great sacrifice as well. You have already experienced plenty of loss in your young life, and this career might lead to more. So I want you to hear in no uncertain terms, Michael--you are not beholden to this organization simply because after all your striving, you landed here.”

Michael nods slowly. These words are clearly a warning, but she is awestruck nonetheless.

“I understand, Captain. I will consider your words. But I do think this is where I’m meant to be.”

Georgiou holds her gaze for a long moment, and Michael is less afraid to continue gazing back at her, though she still hopes she is not as transparent as she feels in this moment. When her captain eventually nods, then rises to her feet, Michael does too.

“If command is still your wish, then I will focus on providing you the experiences you’ll need in order to prepare for it. A commander still has lots to learn before they’re ready for the chair.” Georgiou holds our her hand, offering Michael the piece of amethyst. “Keep this.”

“Captain?” Michael says, wrinkling her brow and not reaching at first to take the stone.

“To remember this conversation. And perhaps to decorate your future ready room.”

As Georgiou places the stone in her hand, their fingers brush.

“Thank you, Captain,” Michael breathes, and Georgiou finally smiles.

Michael returns to the bridge with the stone in her pocket, carrying it through the rest of her shift. It feels a bit heavy resting there at her side, yet Michael’s heart feels impossibly light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been some good meta floating around since the finale about Michael's s3 arc, and I wanted to bring a touch of that in here. The "life of loss" line that Philippa says in s1e2 isn't fleshed out anywhere I've seen, but the event described here certainly wouldn't be the extent of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sixth anniversary overlaps shore leave.
> 
> Michael realizes something significant.

6.

When Michael’s sixth Shenzhou anniversary rolls around, she is a Lieutenant Commander, and she and the crew are on Earth.

It’s their crew’s first shore leave in over a year, and it’s Michael’s first time to Earth in much longer than that. Most of her human crewmates have places to go and people to visit, making the most of their five weeks of scheduled rest while the Shenzhou receives upgrades and maintenance. Michael has no family on Earth that she knows about, but Amanda had offered to come and meet her there and show her around the places she’d left behind so many years ago. Because of some diplomatic commitments that had carried into the past week, she will not be arriving for two more weeks, and until then, Michael had expected to simply wait at Headquarters and entertain herself.

When Georgiou caught wind of this, however, she had shaken her head.

“You’re not sitting around HQ that whole time if I have anything to say about it,” she said, seeming more preoccupied with the data drives she was stacking in a case to bring off the ship with her. “I have reports to submit and meetings to attend of course, but I’ll be going to Malaysia after my necessary days of bureaucracy are concluded at HQ. Come with me.”

She only looked up at Michael for the last three words, and Michael hoped her face did not betray her. Again, it was not an order. But Michael did not for one second consider saying no.

When Georgiou had met Michael at the conclusion of her meetings, she had still been in uniform.

“Have you been to Asia before?” she asked cheerfully as she led them to a shuttle bay where she had booked a small craft for their mission.

“No,” Michael answered, noting the large bag Georgiou was carrying—her own was much smaller.

“Well, I’ve never met someone who didn’t find something to enjoy in Langkawi,” Georgiou said, pressing her palm to a screen to receive directions to their designated craft. “And I’m happy to be your tour guide.”

On the shuttle, Philippa had set and autopilot course across the Pacific and then disappeared into the lavatory as soon as they reached cruising altitude. When she emerged in a loose, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of wide-legged cotton pants, however, Michael had been a bit disarmed.

“I am not sure if the things I’ve brought to wear are appropriate,” she said, though she’d researched the clothing trends of their destination in advance and tried to pack appropriately. “The forecast said the weather would be very hot…”

“I am sure whatever you have is fine. And if not, you can borrow anything you need from my home,” Georgiou said lightly, checking on their flight path before sitting near Michael again.

“The weather _will_ be hot, won’t it?” Michael repeated nervously and Georgiou shot her a comforting smile.

“Yes, but my mother always expects to see me dressed modestly.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. “Your…mother?”

Georgiou’s family home was in fact their first stop, with their shuttle docking directly on the roof of a thin, multistory building. Georgiou had briefed Michael on who they would see, but there was still something startling about a trio of children racing out onto the rooftop squealing to “Auntie Pippa” and nearly tackling her to the ground with hugs. More family members appeared, Michael was introduced, and they were swept downstairs for whatever was coming next.

Michael was in both awe and fear the whole time, more nervous than any experience she had had with any society in the past six years. The captain’s mother was a small woman in her nineties, living with a family that Georgiou introduced as her nephew’s, the son of Philippa’s older brother. The nephew had a lovely wife and three children, all in grade school, and Michael attempted to fade into the background while they all happily reunited. Georgiou had gifts and hugs for everyone, but she also made a visible effort to include Michael in the conversations when possible. The rapid exchanges between family members occasionally slipped into a language Michael did not know, but she did not try to sneak out her translator, just sipped her tea and basked in the obvious warmth among everyone in the room.

There was a delicious meal that left Michael’s tongue burning, exchanging of holos of missed events, but after the sun had gone down and the children sent to bed, Georgiou had deferred the invitation to spend the night in her family’s home.

“We’ll see you all again this weekend. For now, I’m sure Michael would like a little rest.”

Georgiou had flown their shuttle to another small house on a different part of the island, this one nearer the coast, and docked the craft in the area behind the house. Though she entered a passcode and submitted her fingerprints to a screen at the door, Michael at first believed the place was only rented until she saw the pictures on the walls. She immediately set to studying them, and Georgiou chuckled.

“Lots of stories there,” the captain called as she set her bag at the door and removed her shoes. “But maybe for the morning. Come upstairs, I’ll show you your room.”

Georgiou had set her up with a bedroom suite on the second floor, shown her where everything was, and then immediately turned in for the night, leaving Michael to lie awake alone, too keyed up by the day’s events to sleep until close to dawn, when weariness won out.

So there they were on their sixth anniversary, waking up in a small house not so far from a beach on a little island of Malaysia. Michael comes downstairs in the morning to find Georgiou sitting on the back porch in a sleeveless linen dress with a tea and the remains of a breakfast beside her, but the woman jumps up to prepare something for Michael too as soon as she catches sight of her.

“I hope you slept well,” she says with a smile, joining Michael in the dining area that looks out on the porch, but Michael is too disarmed by the sight of the captain in a dress to answer at first.

“Yes, of course,” she finally says, watching as Georgiou floats comfortably through the kitchen, returning a kettle to its stand and moving to pull down another plate.

“Would you like to try a local breakfast?”

Said breakfast is a serving of coconut rice and several smaller servings of proteins and vegetables, and Georgiou explains every one to her as she adds them to the plate.

“Did you prepare this yourself?” Michael breathes in awe, and Georgiou laughs, pushing the plate across the breakfast bar to Michael.

“I was never a very good cook. I went and picked this up at the morning market before you woke up.”

“I suppose the fridge was empty on arrival,” Michael notes, and Georgiou shrugs as the kettle begins to boil.

“It’s true. I know it makes little sense for me to maintain a dwelling here,” the captain says as she turns to remove the kettle and serve Michael a cup of tea, “having to restock the cabinets every five years, never really getting to live here long, but this is, and always will be, the place that built me. When I eventually retire, it is where I always picture myself returning to.”

“Was this your family’s home?” Michael asks, now studying the photos (real photos) mounted on the walls—some look hundreds of years old and are preserved in archival plastic behind their glass.

“No, we lived at a rather different income level when I was a girl,” Georgiou says, acknowledging the photos as she brings the cup over to Michael. “My father was a laborer in the mines. But my mother was a teacher, and she’s the one who taught me to dream. That telescope in the ship’s ready room? It was hers. She taught me how to study the sky from the roof of our little house.”

Michael thinks of her mother’s telescope on Doctori Alpha, one she’d looked through only minutes before her life changed forever, and says nothing, looking down at her food instead.

“You never really lived on earth, did you Michael?” Georgiou asks with unsettling clairvoyance, now setting a plate of sliced fresh fruit on the counter between them.

Michael shakes her head, accepting a slice of something she guesses is mango. “No. I was born on Earth but barely remember it. Most of my childhood memories are of Doctori Alpha or of Vulcan.”

“Where on Earth were you born?” Georgiou asks, pouring fresh hot water into her own mug of tea.

“Seattle. One of the only things I remember was the rain.”

Michael is still fighting back against her last memories of Doctori Alpha, so she points to another picture on the wall.

“Who is that?”

Georgiou knows every name and patiently offers every story. Ancestors as far as eight generations back, friends from her years in Starfleet, but it’s a face that matches a name Michael has read on Georgiou’s file but never seen a picture of that causes Michael’s heart to race.

“Santos and I were only married a year. We were very young, friends from Academy days. serving on the same ship. It was a good year.”

“What happened?” Michael asks, realizing too late that perhaps she shouldn’t.

“You remember I said I lost my best friend that day,” Georgiou says, stirring her tea and not looking at Michael.

Stunned, Michael looks down at her plate.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s all right, Michael,” Georgiou says, briefly touching Michael’s arm. “If you’re finished eating, why don’t you bring your tea out on the porch? It’s such a lovely morning.”

Georgiou waits until they are out in the fresh air to ask more questions, stretching her bare feet out in the direction of the sea while a breeze plays gently with her loose hair.

“Six years, Michael. And you might be a captain in just a few more. How are you feeling about your place within Starfleet, after all these years?” the captain asks cheerfully, not looking at Michael but in the same direction as her.

For this, Michael is grateful.

“I would want it no other way,” she says honestly.

Georgiou looks over at her with a glowing smile. “High praise.”

Michael can only sustain eye contact for a moment or so. “I think I’ll be forever grateful for the time I’ve gotten to spend as part of your crew, Captain,” she says shyly.

She can hear that Georgiou is still smiling. “We’re not on duty right now, Michael. You can call me Philippa.”

Now, Michael is sure she’s blushing, and she scrambles for safer ground.

“I admire that you kept this home, but how did you adapt to life so far from family who you obviously love so dearly?”

Georgiou nods, reaching for her tea on the table between them. “It’s a bit sad to have missed so much of my family members’ lives, but the loss is a bit easier to bear when your crew also becomes your family.”

“And yet the rules about relationships between captains and crew members are rather restrictive,” Michael points out. “Familial relationships can only go so far. Isn’t captaincy also lonely in its own way?”

Georgiou nods, bringing her tea to her lips again. “Yes—when rules prohibit forming a romantic relationship with one’s commanding officers, a captain certainly finds herself on an island.”

The thought had occurred to Michael before with varying corresponding emotions over the years. “So a captain has to find herself a civilian, or someone posted to another ship?”

Georgiou leans back in her chair, her lips pulling into a careful smile. “Well, she could always find herself another captain.”

Michal forgets to breathe for a moment.

_Oh._

Before she can say anything, or even catch her breath again, the captain suddenly sets her drink aside and gets to her feet.

“Let’s take a walk before the sun and sand get too hot,” Philippa says, already striding barefoot down to a sandy footpath that cuts towards the sea. “Come on, Michael! I can’t wait to show you. The beaches here are just beautiful.”

And Michael follows not because it’s an order, but because there is nothing else she would rather do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this week five years ago, I too was in Langkawi <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seventh conversation is outside.

7.

A year later, they’re walking side by side in sand again, but in a totally different world.

“Follow my footsteps, Michael,” Philippa calls over her shoulder. “Even lines.”

“Why? Captain, where are we going?” Michael half-whines, trying to pick her feet up well so that not too much sand slips into her shoes as they stride down a dune.

“It’s your turn to trust me, Number One.”

Michael would never admit that she still gets excited by this moniker, even if Philippa’s been using it for nearly a year now.

“But now we’re really lost,” she says instead, glancing over her shoulder at the Crepusculan colony they have left in the distance, the storm blowing in a little beyond it. “We’re too small to be seen with the naked eye, and you can’t set a course without a star.”

“It’s hard to imagine,” Philippa says ahead of her, “but you’ve served under me for _seven_ years. I think it’s time we discussed you having your own command.”

Michael nearly stumbles, freezing midstep, and Philippa looks back over her shoulder at her. Behind her tinted goggles, her eyes are as alert as ever. Whether from this planet’s sun’s strength or from the stinging sand in the wind, the woman’s face is flushed.

Or maybe it’s not from the sun or the wind…

_Does she mean…_

Philippa continues gazing expectantly at her, and Michael suddenly realizes that she is waiting for a response.

“I’m grateful, Captain,” the words tumble out, and she hears her thrill betrayed on her voice. Unsure if it was appropriate, she hurries on to a safer statement. “Though, I would be significantly more so if I thought there were any chance of ever returning to the ship.”

_Although, being trapped here with the Captain for eighty-nine years hardly sounds like a prison sentence…_

Philippa laughs, resuming her course without fearing that Michael will follow.

“Just keep walking, Michael!” she calls over her shoulder.

Quickly, Michael catches up, letting their strides form parallel tracks behind them in the sand. As they dip down a steep bank, Philippa reaches back to take her hand, steadying Michael as they descend. A fingerless glove covers each of their palms, but Michael can only think, _Finally._

It took seven years to get here, but now she doesn't want to ever let go.

Back on the ship, they receive word that their ship is being sent on a tech maintenance mission out on the edge of Federation space near a binary star system.

There is never an eighth meeting.

But.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But.

But.

~~8.~~ 1.

“Ha. You talked them out of it, didn’t you?” the woman says with an amused chuckle and a wide smile.

It doesn’t remind Michael of a Cheshire Cat; it reminds her of a shark.

“Of planetary slaughter? Yes,” she answers briskly, watching as Philippa, this Philippa, pockets the _carte blanche_ of Starfleet not far from where she once wore a badge announcing her to be a dead woman.

“Oh, don’t be so _dramatic_ ,” this woman says with a roll of her eyes. “When I did this in my universe, it didn’t wipe out the Klingons. A decent number should be able to save themselves.”

“Turn it off,” Michael repeats with as much authority as she can muster.

The woman’s face changes. “Has it ever occurred to you that I was doing this for you? By ending the war I’d set you free from the pain and guilt you carry because of it.”

Even a few weeks ago, Michael might have leapt down a volcano if it meant she could hear this voice absolve her for everything in the past year. Now, she just shakes her head.

“Not buying it.”

The woman in front of her makes a childish sound, pursing her lips. “Worth a try.”

“You really are nothing like my Georgiou, are you?” Michael can’t help saying, and the woman’s gaze snaps up again.

“No,” she says disdainfully, giving Michael a stunned look. “And I never have been. She’s _dead_ , Michael. There are no second chances.”

 _Yes, there are,_ Michael thinks. _I just handed you one._

“No, I suppose not.”

“I do like you, though,” the woman says casually. “Why not join me?”

Michael considers it in the half-second between the invitation and her answer.

_I wanted a second chance from you, but not this one._

“Give it to me,” Michael orders, lunging for the detonator. Memories collide with the sight in front of her, the way she’d once tried to persuade her captain to attack the Klingons, confusingly inverted now… Again, Michael finds herself looking down a phaser held in Philippa’s hand. The expression on the woman’s face is starkly different, though.

“Take your _freedom_ ,” Michael grimaces, “in exchange for the detonator. Or try to escape my ship and its crew and be hunted by the Federation for the rest of your days.”

The other woman scoffs. “You think your federation scares me?”

“Not particularly,” Michael concedes, stepping closer. “But the only way you’re going to get past me is to kill me.”

She grabs the top of the phaser, not to wrest it from the woman’s grip, but to bring it flush against her chest. She sees a flicker of shock in the woman’s eyes, but her grip on the phaser does not falter.

“So you’ll have to watch me die _again_ ,” Michael challenges her. “And did I mention being hunted for the rest of your days?”

For a long moment, they stand frozen in silence, and Michael looks closely into the woman’s eyes, in case this will be the last thing she’d ever see. It’s a gamble, an incredible one—it made little sense to bank on the compassion of a Terran. But Michael had sensed it from the first time they’d stood face-to-face in the emperor’s throne room—the same loss, the same guilt, the same longing for another chance. The emperor masked it behind ornaments and brutality, but Michael had seen it all in her eyes.

Sees it now.

_I couldn’t watch you die twice. And I’m counting on the same humanity—or at least the same selfishness—in you._

And maybe the fallen emperor knows she has shown her hand, because instead of pulling the trigger, she suddenly folds.

“Ugh,” she sighs dramatically, casting her gaze towards the ceiling as she lowers the phaser and raises the device in her other hand. “The detonator is encoded to my bioprint. Would you like it encoded to yours?”

“Not to mine, no,” Michael says, flipping open her communicator to call down Tyler and L’Rell.

In the belly of the volcano, a tentative peace is agreed on. A war Michael once started comes to a quiet end. Four people, enemies in nearly every configuration, exchange information, ideas, and opportunities, and Michael barely has a second to marvel at the moment before it passes.

_There are no second chances. There are only reparations._

“I’ll leave you to it then,” the former emperor says snidely once it’s all done, slipping behind L’Rell towards the exit.

“Be good…Philippa,” Michael calls after her, voice catching on the name that has yet to become easier to say. She’d once been thrilled to be invited to use it.

Maybe someday, saying it won’t carry the aftertaste of regret.

The woman who looks like her captain only in the physical sense turns a last time towards Michael. Her smile looks, for some reason, triumphant.

“Or you’ll come for me?” she asks, sounding intrigued by the prospect.

_Follow my footsteps, Michael. Even lines._

Michael would once have walked through fire for her. Instead, in the belly of a volcano, she says goodbye.

“Make sure I don’t have to.”

Philippa gazes at her with a lingering smile for a long moment, barely nods once, then turns away.

She leaves, and Michael does not follow.

But.

2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Kat for all her cheerleading and encouragement and for giving me the courage to unearth this fic after three years. <3 Thank you everyone who came along for the ride and gave me confidence with all your kind feedback. Hope the ending delivered!


End file.
